


Am I your halfway house (Long lost lighthouse, the one place you're yourself)

by naivesilver



Series: Hatoful Boyfriend Ship Week 2020 [2]
Category: Hatoful Kareshi | Hatoful Boyfriend
Genre: Angst, Bad Boys Love Route Spoilers (Hatoful Kareshi), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Guilt, Hatoful Boyfriend Ship Week - Day 2: Sleep, ICPSS enabled, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Bad Boys Love Route (Hatoful Kareshi)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:07:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26930371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naivesilver/pseuds/naivesilver
Summary: It's the rumble of thunder outside that wakes Sakuya up.That's what he convinces himself of, at least.Sakuya and Ryouta go on, day after day - but it's the nights that might get to them, in the end.
Relationships: Kawara Ryouta/Shirogane Le Bel Sakuya
Series: Hatoful Boyfriend Ship Week 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1963837
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11
Collections: Hatoful Boyfriend Ship Week





	Am I your halfway house (Long lost lighthouse, the one place you're yourself)

It's the rumble of thunder outside that wakes Sakuya up.

That's what he convinces himself of, at least, when he startles awake in the middle of the night, heart hammering in his chest. He shouldn't - there should be no need to lie to himself, not in the privacy of his own head, where nobirdie else can see. He’s supposed to have gone past that point.

But the action is too ingrained in his system for him to shake it off, at this point, and in the end it's easier to pretend than to admit he was frightened by his own dreams.

He sits up on the bed, waiting for his breath to even out, and listens to the rain fall, pattering hard against the windowpane. The blankets slide off him and pool on his legs, and a sudden chill comes over him, sending a shiver down his spine.

He hadn't thought it would be so bloody freezing, but it's- well. A quick look at his phone tells him it's a little past two AM, and it's late autumn besides. A little cold is to be expected.

He turns off the phone again, lest the bright light of its screen disturbs Ryouta as well. Not that there's any risk for it: the cocoon of blankets at Sakuya's side is still rising and falling to the rhythm of the other boy's breathing, only a couple locks of blue hair peeking out from the otherwise unrecognizable and shapeless lump.

Ryouta can't fall asleep unless he's covered head to toe anymore. He said it's because of the cellar, the night Sakuya gathered enough courage to ask, said he's afraid he'll be stuck in the ice for months again if he falls asleep when it's cold.

It's irrational, but then again hardly anything that's happened to them in recent times has had a rational explanation, so Sakuya can let it slide. And he can make do without a couple blankets if it puts Ryouta at ease - he's made of hardier stock than his boyfriend, surely, even taking the absence of noble blood into account.

Speaking of which. He could, in theory, call Yuuya, or at least send a text - he'll have a hard time going back to sleep anyway, and his brother is known for working odd hours even on the best of days. He's probably awake as well, inside whatever dingy apartment the Dove Party has given him this time.

But talking to Yuuya would hardly set his mind at ease. Their relationship is better now than it ever was, but there are still too many years of bad habits to unlearn, too many unspoken apologies that should come from both sides. Their conversations are stilted at best, or at least Sakuya feels them to be so, every word he speaks grating on his nerves, wrong and out of place.

And what could he say, anyway? _I dreamt we were at school again_? That would sound ridiculous, and it wouldn't be enough, besides: it wouldn't even graze the surface of what he sees every other night.

_I dreamt you were dead. I dreamt Ryouta was dying, and that I was the one giving the doctor his knife. I dreamt that Tosaka..._

He stops himself before he can go any further. Tosaka is still a sore spot, for him and Ryouta both. She didn't deserve what happened to her - none of them did, but she was the only one not to get a second chance, afterwards. Bringing up her name never does them any good.

Yuuya is out of the question, then, if even just considering that option prompts his thoughts to run wild. Sakuya lays back down, turning this way and that, hoping against hope his brain might have sorted out whatever issues it had in the meanwhile.

After all, he can't just wallow in self-pity all night, can he? He's - he's not a Le Bel, he's not anyone special, really, but that doesn't mean he doesn't have a spine. He can't let his own mind play against him at will.

He's still trying to settle in what might pass for a comfortable position when something moves beside him. He freezes mid-movement as Ryouta's arm pokes out of the blankets, followed shortly by his head, red eyes blinking blearily.

" 'Kuya?" He mumbles, rubbing at his face with the back of his hand. "What's wrong?"

"Go back to sleep" Sakuya murmurs in reply, hoping to sound reassuring. "I didn't want to wake you up."

Ryouta does not, in fact, go back to sleep. Instead he glances out of the window, as though checking if it might be morning already, and Sakuya follows his gaze, watching the rivulets of water trace uneven patterns on the glass.

It rained the day of Mrs Kawara's funeral, too. Sakuya remembers it far too well. He paid for it out of his pocket and then stood, soaked through and shivering, as a handful of friends and neighbours gave their eulogies and ignored him on their way out of the cemetery, a well-groomed stranger where her son ought to have been.

He remembers wondering if Ryouta might be feeling that cold, too, down under the ice. If he would get angry, after waking up, upon learning that he wouldn’t even have the chance to bury his mother.

The brush of fingers against his face startles him out of his reverie. Ryouta's skin is furnace hot as it touches his, his hand cupping Sakuya's cheek and pushing away some strands of hair when they get in the way.

(His hair is longer than it ever was - Monsieur Le Bel was adamant that he keep it under control, but now it's a small rebellion in and of itself, one of the very few that he can manage without feeling torn in two.

Besides, he likes the feeling of Ryouta's fingers carding through it, softly as though it were a treasure.)

"Another nightmare?" Ryouta asks, pushing himself up so he and Sakuya might be at eye level.

It's only natural that he'd make that assumption - between the two of them they've had enough bad dreams for a couple lifetimes, in the past few months. And yet Sakuya goes still under that gaze, under that gentle touch that makes his skin feel raw and exposed and vulnerable, on the brink of pulling away.

There’s a reason why he always tries to go back to sleep on his own, at night. Ryouta’s dreams are angry and loud – he flails and calls out names, Hiyoko’s and Sakuya’s and Doctor Iwamine’s, again and again until his voice grows hoarse – but Sakuya is uncharacteristically quiet in his night terrors, more prone to bite his tongue and roll to the other side than he is to shake the other boy awake.

He could, if he so wished: Ryouta wouldn’t mind, would probably be happy to help, because he’s just _that_ kind of person, even after everything they’ve been through. But there’s a lump down Sakuya’s throat that never lets him speak, something that gnaws and chews at his insides and tells him that he’s not at the centre of attention here, that he oughtn’t raise such a fuss.

It sounds like Doctor Iwamine, at times, dry and sardonic and delightedly cruel. Other times it sounds like his father (the man he believed to be his father, that is) or like Yuuya - and those are the worst ones, because his brother has never sounded that cold and cutting, not even when Sakuya most likely deserved it.

“I’m fine” he says now, even though his mouth is dry and parched and the words don’t come out believable at all, because there are a hundred voices telling him that’s what he should do. “Nothing to worry about.”

Ryouta scoffs, making it clear what he thinks of _that_ , and lays back down, motioning for him to follow. “Let’s go back to sleep. My mother always said that things look better in the morning.”

Sakuya would like to refuse, particularly because he fears Ryouta’s words will bring forth another ghost, one of the half dozen that always seem to stand guard at night, for all that he likes to pretend otherwise – Mrs Kawara in those last few days, delirious and asking after her little boy.

But Ryouta’s hand slides down his neck, gentle but firm, and Sakuya relents, letting himself be tugged down. Ryouta doesn’t ask any questions, but it’s fine, because Sakuya is not sure he would be able to give any answers. And with his face nestled in the crook of Ryouta’s neck, with Ryouta’s arms wrapped around his body and Ryouta’s lips pressing a kiss on the top of his head, he can almost forget the things he saw in his dreams, the ones that no doubt the other boy is picturing as well.

The room is still freezing cold, but if he closes his eyes and digs his fingers in the flesh of Ryouta’s back and digs deeper into the blankets, he can almost pretend it’s warm, and that it’s not raining outside anymore.

The rest, they can deal with come morning.

**Author's Note:**

> I've always been of the idea that Ryouta's mom must have died in the BBL-verse as well, and that Sakuya might have taken it upon himself to check in on her, since Ryouta himself couldn't be there. If you weren't ready for the additional angst, well, I AM a little bit sorry.  
> Thank you for reading! I hope I'll be able to put up the Day 3 fill on time as well.
> 
> P.S. The title is from Halfway House by Hourstone, which I listened to while writing this bc I suddenly realized how much of a sakuryou song it is.


End file.
